“Sure thing.”
He hated to even concede the possibility, but time was of the essence. “Look, try not to use her name if you don’t have to, but if you get resistance from Flynt, see if Sam Dalton’s presence would make a difference in his attitude.”
“Ahh,” she said. “One of those types? Sleazy criminals who will spill their guts to a pretty face?”
“Something like that. The sooner, the better, okay?”
“You got it. I’ll let you know as soon as I get it set up.”
“Thanks.”
He cut the connection and was about to drop the phone back in his pocket when he noticed the message symbol on the screen. Frowning, since he hadn’t even heard the thing ring, he dialed his voice mail, learning a call had come in about ten minutes ago.
“Alec, it’s Samantha Dalton.”
He muttered a curse, wishing he’d thought to set the phone on vibrate. Then he stepped even closer to the wall, listening intently.
“I . . . Oh, hell, I feel stupid for calling. It’s, uh . . . Something weird happened. At least, I thought it was just weird at first. Now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s scary, instead.”
She went silent, amid background noise. Voices, the clank of dishes. Someone saying, “Samantha, get off the phone; we’ll lose our table!”
Then another voice. “Welcome to Raphael’s. Is your entire party here?”
“Sorry, I should go. I’m having lunch with my mom.” She hesitated, as if debating whether to continue, then mumbled, “Do me a favor, okay? Check my blog. There’s a new post, but I didn’t put it there. I thought it had been hijacked by spammers; they’ve targeted me before. It wasn’t even until after I left my place that I thought of another possibility.” Her voice shaking, a hint of fear so obvious it clutched at his insides, she added, “Can’t deny it has me a little rattled, considering last night.”
The call ended abruptly, with no good-bye.
His heart pounding, he punched a button to call her back and cursed when he got her voice mail, too. “It’s Alec; I just got your message,” he said. “Call me back as soon as you can.”
Disconnecting, he set the phone to both vibrate and ring. Don’t panic. She sounded okay.
He wasn’t panicked. He was just concerned. He wouldn’t relax until he knew what had put that note of fear in Sam’s voice.
Alec suddenly felt completely cut off. The elevator hadn’t returned—the crime scene technician, still smarting from missing the candle wax, was probably going over every millimeter of it. He was stuck hundreds of feet in the air when what he wanted was to drive straight to that restaurant, wherever it was, and see what had frightened Sam.
He dialed Lily again.
“Hey, I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker. I called about setting up the meeting with Flynt, but I need more than ten minutes to get a response.”
“It’s not that. Are you at your desk?”
“Of course.”
“Do something for me, would you? Pull up Samantha Dalton’s Web page.”
“I checked it forty minutes ago. He hadn’t posted.”
“Humor me.”
This time, the clicking was more audible, since he was more sheltered from the wind. And he easily heard her when Fletcher murmured, “That’s new.”
“What?” he snapped. “Is it Darwin?”
“No, no. I guess Ms. Dalton has some kind of inside joke with her regulars or something. She put a new blog post up. Kind of unusual, too.”
Alec’s heart pounded. Sam had not done any such thing. “What does it say?”
“Just five words, in big, bold print. They take up the whole screen.”
“Read them to me,” he ordered.
“It’s not threatening or anything.”
He gritted his teeth. “Lily?”
Apologizing, she did as he asked. “It says, ‘What was in the box?’ ”
Chapter 11
Trying to maintain a smile and a normal conversation, despite the nervousness rising higher with each passing minute, wasn’t the easiest thing Sam had ever done. Somehow, though, she pulled it off. With her shaking hands clasped together on the table, a steady supply of water in her dry mouth, and constant chatter from her mother and Tricia to cover up her silence, she honestly thought she conveyed an I’m-perfectly-fine attitude.
Not an I’m-freaking-out one.
She hadn’t freaked out at first. In fact, when she’d first logged on this morning, she’d been so relieved to find Darwin still had not responded to her blog post, she’d been almost complacent. A quick check of e-mail and of her site right before she walked out the door an hour later had been simply a matter of habit. So it hadn’t sunk in at first.
Oh, she’d noticed the fake blog post immediately, but, as she’d said in her message to Alec, it wasn’t the first time. It hadn’t happened often; usually the content management software she used for blogging was good enough to prevent such attacks. But spammers loved to target sites like hers, if only to show they could “get” the Spaminator.
Today’s annoyance, therefore, hadn’t been unusual enough to inspire panic. Already running late, she had figured she’d handle it when she got home from lunch.
The panic had come a few minutes later. Not wanting to deal with parking, she’d grabbed a cab, and while sitting in the backseat, idly staring at passing cars, she’d finally allowed herself to really think about the words that had filled the screen.
What was in the box?
Her heart had nearly stopped, though she’d called herself a fool. It was pure coincidence that someone would post such a thing less than twelve hours after Alec carried the boxed computer up to her place.
But what if it wasn’t?
Jesus. What if it wasn’t?
“Hello, Earth to Sam!”
She jerked when Tricia waved a heavily ringed, spangle-braceleted hand in front of her face. Tricia Scott wasn’t a typical real estate agent. No conservative blazers or Lincoln Continentals for her. The attractive red-head wore silky pantsuits in jungle patterns and drove a monster SUV when showing her clients around the city. She’d managed to survive the downturn in the market through sheer personality and verve. Sam had stayed with Tricia for a short time after she’d walked out on her marriage and credited her friend with keeping her sane.
“Sorry. Just deep in thought.”
“Well, stop it,” her mother scolded. “You look so serious. You’ll get frown lines.”
“You don’t have any, Mrs. H.” Tricia’s smile was far too ingratiating. Her next words showed why. “Who’s your plastic surgeon?”
Beside her, Uncle Nate, who had hovered in the background, quiet and content to be surrounded by chatty women, coughed into his napkin to hide a laugh. Love Sam’s mother he might, but he also saw Christine Harrington for what she was: a somewhat vain, overly romantic woman who longed to be taken care of and kept herself in tip-top shape as she watched for the next prospect to do exactly that. That she had never even considered him as a prospect had to have hurt him, though he’d never said a word.
Her mother had sparred with Tricia for too many years to be surprised by the jab. She smirked. “I’ll get you his number; I can see you already need it.”
Tricia snorted a good-humored laugh. The two women had a lot in common. Though they would never admit it, they also liked each other.
“Do you have any special plans for your birthday tomorrow, Samantha?” Nate asked.
Staying alive would be good. Avoiding a certain psycho who might have been watching her last night? Good also.
“Not really,” she murmured. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your standing offer to come up to the sportsmen’s club and learn how to shoot.”
He appeared pleased. “You know I’ll teach you anytime you want.” He leaned over and patted her shoulder, studying her closely. “A girl can’t be too careful nowadays.”
“Neither can a judge,” she said with a pointed stare.
“Touché,” he r
eplied, his slight smile acknowledging that he had a gun somewhere on his person at all times.
Tricia had overheard.“I should learn, too. You wouldn’t believe some of the sleazeballs in my business. A few weeks ago, I did an open house for one of my listings, and this couple came in, but then disappeared. I went looking and found them in the master bedroom closet, going at it right on a pile of the owner’s dirty clothes.”
Sam’s mother wrinkled her nose.“Imagine that. I’d have to throw everything away and buy a new wardrobe.”
“Disgusting, yeah. But as disgusting as being the one to lie naked on somebody else’s dirty underwear to have sex? Talk about doing the nasty,” Tricia said.
Sam honestly didn’t know which was worse: coming home to find your dirty clothes all sexed on, or going at it with someone on a pile of dirty clothes belonging to a stranger. Either way: ick. Yet somehow, she found herself smiling at the conversation, rather than cringing. Because after the week she’d had, it was nice to watch her best friend try to scandalize her mother, and the older woman take it in good grace, their typical song and dance.
Falling silent, Sam sat back and listened to the others converse. It was more than nice; in fact, being here was pretty wonderful. Watching the verbal sparring, seeing the reactions. It was all so normal. Which felt better to her right now than any wild, dangerous adventure ever could.
She wanted to let them know that, to thank them for coming and admit she might actually have reached a personal milestone and would hopefully be returning to some kind of normal life.
Before she could say a word, though, a male voice intruded. “Sorry I’m late.” Sitting in the empty chair beside her, he smiled pleasantly at everyone, particularly Sam. “Happy birthday.”
She gawked. “Rick? What on earth are you doing here?”
His brow went up in confusion. Sam cast a quick glance across the table and saw the excitement sparkling in her mother’s eyes.
Matchmaking. I’ll kill her.
How could her mother do this? Jeez, so much for starting her bright new life. A vivid reminder of her dark old one had just plunked down right beside her.
“Uh, wait.” Rick stared back and forth between Sam and her mother, obviously embarrassed. She couldn’t imagine what he must have thought when her mother had invited him to meet them, probably saying Sam had been all for the idea, despite her rejection of a dinner date two days ago.
He immediately confirmed as much. “Please don’t tell me you didn’t know I was coming.”
Her mother glared, silently warning her not to be rude. Sam was about to do the nice thing and lie her face off, but before she had to, the most welcome words she had ever heard interrupted. “Sam, I need to talk to you.”
She was rising from her seat before she’d even looked up to confirm who had spoken. Something inside her simply responded to Alec Lambert’s voice, excitement picking up her pulse, her breath tripping to rush in and out of her body.
Mixed with the excitement was relief. He had come. He’d heard her message and responded to it, and was here to tell her everything was okay. That she had simply made a mountain out of a box.
“Hello, Alec,” she said, wondering if something about her expression or the warm tone of her voice would reveal how she felt about this man to the people who knew her better than anyone else in the world.
Those people had gone utterly silent, watching wide-eyed. All four of them. Not only because Alec’s arrival was so unexpected, but, at least for Mom and Tricia, because they had to have been struck a little dumb by his good looks. He was that kind of man, the type women couldn’t help staring at. Wondering about. Maybe not as classically perfect as Samuel Dalton Jr., but more masculine, more rugged. Way more sexy.
Tricia obviously noticed. Sex on a stick! she mouthed.
Sam thought quickly. “Alec is a friend. He’s, uh, helping me with some research.”
Seeing the grin Tricia didn’t try to hide, Sam knew what kind of research she was imagining. Her mother was smiling, too. Nate watched curiously, and poor Rick Young looked as if he wanted to climb under the table.
She took pity, bending over to grab her purse from the back of the chair, taking the opportunity to whisper, “Sorry; my mom’s a terrible matchmaker, but give Tricia a chance anyway. She’s fabulous.”
He mumbled, “Thank you,” which told her he might not realize she’d said that so he could save face.
Straightening again, she looped her purse over her arm and addressed the others. “Will you all excuse me for a minute?”
“Aren’t you even going to introduce us?” her mother asked, sounding highly excited.
Knowing she wouldn’t get away without doing it, she quickly made the introductions. Uncle Nate, always polite, asked Alec to join them.
“I appreciate the invitation,” he said. “And I hate to be a killjoy, but the truth is, we have a bit of a situation, and I’m going to have to ask Sam to come with me.”
Sam froze, her hand on the back of her chair, reading between the lines. Noting the tense way he held himself, she realized he definitely hadn’t come here to tell her everything was okay. That had been a ridiculous, wishful hope. His presence indicated the exact opposite. She’d just been so relieved to see him she hadn’t wanted to admit it.
This was bad.
“Darling, you can’t just run out!”
Walking around the table to her mother, she put her hand on the woman’s shoulders, bent down, and kissed her cheek. Her voice low, she gave the older woman the only excuse that would allow her to escape without a battle. “Mom, he’s someone special.”
Her mother’s mouth rounded. “Oh. You were going to tell us about him a few minutes ago, weren’t you? I’m so sorry.”
“Next time,” Sam muttered, avoiding the question,
“forget about the matchmaking, would you? I’m doing all right on my own.” Heck, maybe it wasn’t even too big a lie. She wouldn’t say she was having a wild, passionate affair with the handsome man waiting impatiently to take her out of here. But stranger things had happened. Even to her.
Lately? Especially to her.
Noting the thumbs-up from Tricia, she let Alec lead her to the door and help her with her coat. The moment they were outside, he pulled her out of view of the restaurant window. “I’m sorry I interrupted. I tried to call.”
She shook her head in silent apology. “I was accused of being incredibly rude for using the phone before we’d even been seated, and was glared into turning it off. Believe me, I would have called you again the minute we were finished.”
Staying close beside her, his strong hand warm on the small of her back, Alec led her to his car, which was parked up the block. He didn’t look at her, his gaze continually scanning the sidewalk, the side streets, even glancing back to the pedestrians behind them.
He looked like someone who expected trouble. “Let’s get out of here, go somewhere private where we can talk.”
Forcing herself to remain calm, she asked, “How’d you get here so fast, anyway?”
He paused. Not even realizing it, she kept walking, going two steps forward before having to turn around. “Alec?”
“I was in town,” he admitted. “Down by the harbor.”
“Has there been a break in the case?” A possible explanation suddenly arose. “Oh, my God, you haven’t been in Baltimore all night, since your boss called you, have you?”
“No.” He started walking again. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
They had reached his car. Alec unlocked it and opened the door for her, not replying until she’d climbed into the passenger seat. Then, with a firmness that didn’t disguise the hint of worry in his voice, he finally answered her question.
“Somewhere as far away from your apartment as I can take you.”
Figuring out Samantha Dalton was working with the authorities to try to capture him had been the most disappointing moment of Darwin’s entire life.
&
nbsp; Worse than the death of his parents in that stupid, completely avoidable accident when he was a child. Worse than finding out he was an orphan, wanted by no one. Worse than being thrown into the foster-care system. Even worse than the first time his foster father had slipped into his room at night for a special lesson that was to be their secret.
He had not been crushed by any of those moments. Expecting nothing more than bad things made receiving them less bitter.
But her . . . He had expected more from her.
You betrayed me.
She had destroyed something inside him. Not only her actions, but the realization that he had misjudged her.
Betrayed me.
He would never allow himself to be vulnerable again. Never let anyone build his expectations, only to be crushed by their inevitable failures.
Betrayed.
Thank God he had been there to see that man leaving her apartment last night. If he hadn’t, his suspicions might never have been aroused. He mightn’t have gone snooping into Samantha’s e-mails, into her private files, using the passwords and account information he had obtained during his extensive visit to her apartment on Christmas Eve.
In the dark hours of last night, he had read her correspondence, all nicely archived on Gmail. Noting the absence of any mention of a man, he had grown more confused. Until, finally, he found one clue. A message from her whorish friend Tricia, apologizing for having left a rude voice mail the previous day when a mystery man had been there to hear it.
There had been nothing else. The trail had gone cold, and he’d almost given up. Then he’d thought of something. He had already figured out Samantha hadn’t been home a few hours after posting her article.Was it possible she had actually been gone much longer? A full twenty-four, perhaps, until the following night, when she’d come home with that man? Had she posted her entry and her follow-up comments from somewhere else?
And, if so, would knowing where help him learn whom she had been with?
Not as easy to find out, but not impossible. His notes from that night at her place were thorough, so he knew which blogging package she used. He’d been able to infiltrate her blog as if he owned it. Becoming an instant administrator, he saw what she saw, the history laid out in front of him like a well-traveled road.
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